


Even As The Seasons Change

by Hallianna



Series: Of Other Than Bardic Beginnings [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Flirting, First Dates, Fluff and Smut, Group Sex, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), M/M, Multi, Tenderness, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, alternate meeting for geralt and jaskier, au where jaskier's a bookseller, beginnings/origins au, geralt needs to be cared for, i live for triss giving geralt hell, implied triss/yennefer, jaskier au, oh no i wrote about the hot springs the fandom put at kaer morhen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28249071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: “Hmm, perhaps.” The man’s expression turned cagey as he looked Geralt over.Geralt heard the unspoken implication and sighed inwardly. “What do you want me to do?”Now the bookseller looked scandalized and it wasn’t an act. “Why would I….well, fuck.” Geralt blinked and the man continued. “You’re probably used to having people take advantage of your services. That’s beyond rude, it’s incomprehensible. People have no manners anymore.” He sighed, straightened his doublet. “I was going to ask you to dinner.”“What?” Geralt’s ears must be plugged.Another Jaskier/Geralt first meeting AU, where Jaskier is a bookseller and Geralt picks up a package for Triss, which should be the beginning and end of such an errand.  Jaskier gives Geralt a priceless book for Vesemir, in return for dinner at his place. And as the seasons change, Geralt leaves Kaer Morhen and returns to Novigrad...and a bookseller whom he can't stop thinking about...
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Of Other Than Bardic Beginnings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069358
Comments: 54
Kudos: 418





	1. Autumn & Winter

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so thrilled so many people loved The Road Winds To You (https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205031), so I decided to write another AU for the series. I highly recommend subscribing to the series, as new entries are being added while most of the stories are standalones or short chapter runs.
> 
> Note: Since it's an AU, super not canon timeline-compliant.
> 
> This was originally two chapters but several people asked for more, so we’re now going to be at 4 to 5 chapters. Please note that chapters 1 and 2 were the original story; everything after that was included at the behest of lovely commenters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me!

_Near Autumn’s End_

Across the street from the proud, sweeping arc of St. Gregory’s Bridge, a single figure moved within the lamp-lit space of The Gilded Page. The figure, tall and masculine with a flop of brown hair, moved stacks of books from one corner to the other, pausing every so often to rearrange or reshelve the tomes. The man hadn’t yet noticed Geralt as he leaned against the bridge, waiting for the shop to open.

The sun was barely rising at this early hour but Hierarch Square had been bustling with shoppers as Geralt walked by. But here on the north side of Novigrad, things were still quiet. Windows were shuttered, the guards rotated in lazy circles around the square (though they kept staring at the hulking figure of the Witcher), and smoke pumped from chimneys in the distance.

Geralt waited.

The man inside the shop disappeared upstairs and Geralt shifted, hoping this meant he was going to open the damn door. But no, of course not. Instead, he pushed open the windows on the second story and leaned out, closing his eyes in the warm breeze. He still hadn’t noticed Geralt.

The man was young, probably late twenties. Pale, like most Nordlings. Sharp cheekbones led to a rounded chin; a long, graceful neck was partially hidden by a peacock blue doublet with extensive - and expensive - embroidery. His brown hair was unfashionably long and thick but Geralt doubted the man’s lovers complained about it.

The man sighed into the breeze, let it ruffle his hair. Then he looked down and spotted Geralt. Confusion flitted across his face as he ran bright blue eyes over the hulking, armored form of the Witcher. And then the man smiled.

It was Geralt’s turn to be confused. No one smiled at a Witcher, even after he brought back their missing dog or child or shovel (which was a very long, strange story that he planned on telling to Eskel and Lambert that winter). “You!” the man cried, pointing. 

_Subtle one, this bookseller. Fantastic._

“Hold on, I’ll be right down!” The man disappeared inside and Geralt heard footsteps thumping down the stairs right before the front door was flung open, the cheery bell ringing out. “Come on in, Witcher! My apologies, I didn’t know you’d be by so early.” 

He stood by as Geralt entered the shop and looked around. Geralt had been in many a bookseller’s storefronts, usually seeking out some tome for Vesemir before a sojourn to Kaer Morhen, but this place was unique. For one, it was organized, almost obsessively so; it was also devoid of the smell of dust and page rot that always permeated such spaces. No, this place smelled like wood polish and herbs and tea. Geralt spotted a steaming teapot in the back corner, little clay pots and chipped, mismatched tea cups beside it. And the shelves, where not stocked with books of all sizes and bindings, were full of little knickknacks, from displays of crystals on brass pedestals to sweetly-scented candles that flickered as the man rushed by.

“Would you like some tea?”

Geralt furrowed his brow. The man was perceptive. Interesting. “Just here to pick up a package.”

The man nodded and slipped behind the counter. “Yes, Triss told me you’d be by.” He grinned. “I again apologize for not spotting you out there. Now, let me see….”

As he rummaged behind the counter, Geralt saw a copy of _D’Angelo’s Bitterest Root_ on the shelf behind the bookseller. Vesemir had been searching for it for years and here was one, tattered and stained, but mere feet from him. “Is that available?”

The proprietor looked up, blue eyes narrowed in confusion, then he saw where Geralt pointed. “Oh, the poor thing. She’s so battered. I do need to rebind it before I sell it -“

Geralt shook his head. “I’ll buy it now.”

“As is?” The man looked shocked. “It’ll fall apart like that, good sir Witcher.”

“How much?”

A bundle wrapped in brown paper and twine was set on the counter and Geralt spotted Triss’s handwriting on the order card the shopkeep had affixed to the package. “You’re a friend of Triss and I can’t say no to her friends so….one hundred crowns?”

Geralt frowned. “For that?”

The man put a hand to his heart. “It’s a first edition! I’ve only ever seen one other in person and it was in much better shape.” He leaned forward, tone scandalized. “The ‘bookseller’ I tried to buy it from wanted one thousand crowns! The gall. But this one needs rebound so without factoring in that cost, yes. One hundred crowns.”

It was far too expensive for Geralt at the moment. He’d need to take several hefty contracts to earn the coin, and that was if he didn’t run into other expenses first. “Can I put a deposit on it?”

“Hmm, perhaps.” The man’s expression turned cagey as he looked Geralt over.

Geralt heard the unspoken implication and sighed inwardly. “What do you want me to do?”

Now the bookseller _looked_ scandalized and it wasn’t an act. “Why would I….well, fuck.” Geralt blinked and the man continued. “You’re probably used to having people take advantage of your services. That’s beyond rude, it’s incomprehensible. People have no manners anymore.” He sighed, straightened his doublet. “I was going to ask you to dinner.”

“What?” Geralt’s ears must be plugged. 

He huffed. “Is that so strange? My gods, people truly _are_ awful. Dinner, Witcher. I’d like to hear the stories straight from the source, the ones Triss tells me third-hand. Consider it a trade - a few stories about nasty creatures for the book.”

Geralt ran his tongue over his teeth as he stared at this stranger. Not that dinner with a handsome man who had a lovely voice would be a hardship - not in the least - but it was such a strange request that Geralt felt a little off-kilter. He supposed he had a few stories he could entertain the man with, but he’d have to put in the effort to not tell them in two sentences and risk not getting the book for Vesemir.

_Use your words, Geralt. And then never, ever tell Lambert about this or you’ll never live it down. Remember, it’s for Vesemir._

Geralt grunted, then cleared his throat. “When?”

Something sparked behind those bright blue eyes and if Geralt had been off-kilter before, now he was being pulled in by a riptide. And he’d clearly made a mistake thinking this man was just another shopkeep. “Tomorrow night! I need to buy some ingredients. Is roast chicken all right?” At the Witcher’s nod, the man’s face brightened more. “It’s a family recipe and I haven’t had occasion to make it in so long. Meet me just around the corner at say, eight?” 

He gave Geralt instructions to follow the alley behind the shop to a bright blue door. “I like being close to the store,” the man said. “And if a little girl answers, that’s the neighbor’s child, Gabriella. Just tell her you’re there for Jaskier and she’ll let you in. Little scamp thinks answering the door is a fun pastime.” With a flourish, Jaskier tore off the bottom half of the order card on Triss’s package and pushed the bundle toward Geralt. “Then I will see you tomorrow night!” He glanced around the shop. “Unless you need something else?”

“I’m good.” Geralt nodded his thanks, picked up the bundle, and exited the store. He heard Jaskier yell, “Tell Triss I said hello!” Now out in the bright morning sun, he picked his way across the square and headed toward Triss’s home. 

_What the fuck just happened?_

* * *

Triss let Geralt in with a smile. “Thank you! Oh this is so helpful.” She immediately grabbed the bundle and tore off the twine and paper, cooing over the four books as she laid them out on the table. “How was Jaskier this morning?”

It took Geralt a moment to line up that Jaskier was the bookstore’s owner - the man who invited him for dinner. “Fine.” 

“Geralt.”

He sighed. “Busy. Talkative.” _Attractive._ He looked down at his boots. “Invited me for dinner tomorrow.”

Triss snorted, making him look up. “What….you’re serious? Oh my gods, you are!” She dissolved into a fit of laughter, so much that she had to lean on the table for support. “I didn’t guess him for the Witcher type.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Geralt grumbled, crossing his arms, willing the implication of her words to not sink into his brain and stick there.

“Geralt, Geralt, Geralt.” Triss came to stand in front of him with a big grin. She patted his cheek. “You’re smart and brave and resourceful but you are _bad_ at people.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

“Stop being grouchy.” She gave him a quick once-over. “I recommend a hair cut, a bath, and wearing something other than your armor to dinner.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’m not walking around Novigrad without my armor.”

“Oh pish, you’ll be fine. Just stare at anyone who gets too close and they’ll run away. But take your swords to dinner. Jaskier will fall right into your arms.”

“You’re taking the piss out of me.” That sounded petulant, even to his own ears.

She laughed again, shaking her head. “I absolutely am! It’s far too easy. Now, thank you again for getting these for me but I really must get to work.” She glanced at a clock on her mantle, then to the blank wall beside it. 

He smirked. “Waiting on someone?”

“Yes.”

“Not gonna tell me who?”

“No. It’s none of your business.” She gave him a once-over that made his skin flush. “You’re pretty to look at but this one’s prettier.”

And that solved the question of _who_ immediately. “I don’t want to hear anything about you two blowing up the square,” he said over his shoulder before leaving.

Back outside, Geralt chuckled. Serves him right that the two women he’d once loved would have fallen for each other. He was happy for them, but Yennefer and Triss were a combination of brains, beauty, and magnificent power and he didn’t plan to be anywhere near Triss’s home if they were concocting some scheme.

* * *

“It’s not a date,” Geralt groused as he straightened his doublet. “I’m getting a book for Vesemir and amusing a merchant with too big an imagination.”

_While we eat a meal he’s preparing._

“Fuck.” He blew out a breath and brushed his palms over his hair, feeling the sharp rasp of freshly cut ends. The barber had insisted the tight half-queue was the latest fashion, leaving the bottom half of his hair to lay against his shoulders. _I look stupid_ , he thought, frowning. With no small amount of irritation, he pulled the leather tie from his hair and set it aside.

It was somehow worse. Now his hair hung loose and untamed and he looked like a madman.

Why couldn’t he just give up on the outfit and the hair, throw his armor on, and march over there to get the book in trade for a few minutes of conversation? Why was he so hung up on this?

Geralt glanced outside at the darkening sky and sighed. No time to change his mind, then. With practiced ease, he strapped his swords to his back and left the inn, heading north for St. Gregory’s Bridge.

While Geralt made his way across the city, Jaskier was fussing in the small kitchen of his apartment. It was truly just one large room, divided into living, bathing, and sleeping spaces by wood screens he’d been lucky enough to salvage from an estate sale down the road. St. Gregory’s was not a cheap part of town in which to reside, but he didn’t regret the cost. He was finally accomplishing the things he’d long set out to do - get out from under his father’s thumb, own a business, live in the city. They might seem like small, petty goals to most but for Jaskier, it meant freedom.

That’s all he really wanted.

And that freedom meant peace and quiet when he desired it. Or nights at a tavern, playing for a crowd when the mood struck him. It meant knowledge and wonder and every bit of brilliant life he’d craved when he’d been stuck at his family’s estate or holed up at university. 

And now it meant flirting with an outrageously rugged and handsome Witcher who was on his way over for dinner. Jaskier grinned. He had just enough time to finish dinner preparations, set the tiny table by the big bay window, and then change. The flutter of nerves settled in his belly but he was a bookseller by trade and a bard at heart. Talking to people was what he _did_ , and in the land of a bard, performing was like breathing. There was no such thing as stage fright.

* * *

The tiny face that peered out at Geralt was topped off by a shock of hair so red it rivaled Triss’s. “What ‘chu want, mister?”

Geralt looked up at the neat brick building, checking to make sure he was in the right spot. And then he remembered Jaskier mentioning the little girl who might answer. “I’m here to see Jaskier.”

The child cracked the door open a bit more, eyes curious as she took him in. “You’re big.”

Geralt held back a snort. “And you’re little.”

“I’mma kid. What’s your excuse?”

He saw no reason not to answer honestly. Like a basilisk, children could smell fear. “I’m a Witcher.”

“Shit.” Now Geralt did laugh, a tiny puff of surprised noise that made the girl grin. “Yeah, ‘kay. You can go up. Third floor, corner door.”

Geralt gave her a bow. “Thank you.” 

He began to climb the stairs and heard her say after him, “You be nice to him, Mister Witcher! Jaskier’s nice to me!”

He was too focused to take in the building’s character, but he did notice how clean everything was. Every door varnished to a shine, every lamp on the wall burning brightly. And as he landed on the third floor, he saw Jaskier’s door up ahead and suddenly he felt nervous.

_Stupid. Why am I nervous?_

In the back of his mind he could hear Lambert’s voice say, _Because it’s a date, you dumb fuck. Because the man likes you and you think he’s attractive. Because you’re a lonely sad sack who mopes from village to village, kicking the shit out of creatures while they kick the shit out of you and you never take time for yourself._

“Bah.” He swiped a hand through the air and stomped over to the door.

“Geralt!” The door swung open on Jaskier’s exclamation. “Right on time and….” He eyed Geralt’s civilian clothes and loose hair. “My goodness, if I’d known you were going to show me up in the looks department, I would have pulled out my best doublet.” Jaskier gave a cheeky grin, then stepped aside for Geralt to enter.

This was clearly Jaskier’s apartment. It held the same cozy aesthetic as his shop around the corner; shelves and spaces dotted with tiny treasures between stacks and stacks of books. A fire blazed merrily in the stone hearth while a pot bubbled over it. The wood stove in the corner held two more pots of something that smelled so delicious it made Geralt’s stomach growl. The small table in front of a massive picture window was set with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a wicker basket of bread. And gorgeous rosewood screens blocked off the private areas of the room, but Geralt caught a glimpse of a neatly made bed, large tub, and small marble sink on the other side.

“Your doorman could use some training,” Geralt said as he wandered the space.

Jaskier laughed. “She’s a scamp. Gabriella’s the landlord’s daughter, so we all dote on her. It’s hard not to, honestly.” He gave Geralt an assessing look. “You’re lucky she didn’t threaten to beat you up, with those swords on your back.”

“I might have let her,” Geralt admitted, a grin tugging at his lips. “She’d make a good Witcher.”

Having this man stand in his apartment and talk about his admiration for a girl the size of a sprite was incredibly endearing. Jaskier felt his neck grow hot and decided to focus on pouring wine for his guest. His fingers twitched over the wrapped parcel on the table, but he took a deep breath. _Wait. Wait until the right time. Which if I’m honest will be five minutes from now because I’m beside myself with excitement._

“I didn’t know there were female Witchers,” he admitted as he handed Geralt a glass.

“A few. They’re rare and only a couple of the schools admitted them. Stupid, really.” Geralt took a sip of the wine, letting it burst over his tongue. 

Jaskier froze. “Stupid to take on women as Witchers?”

 _Good job, Geralt._ He shook his head. “Stupid not to take more on, and in all the schools. They’re fast and strong.” Hesitation crossed his face, and then he said, “One of my brothers trained with the Cats for a while. They took women as Witchers. He said they were even more deadly than the men.”

He was talking too much. Talking more than he usually did around strangers. Geralt eyed Jaskier over the rim of his wine glass. The shock of thick brown hair had been marginally tamed, swept roguishly off his forehead but the heat from the fire was threatening to let it tumble back down. His clothes were what Geralt would associate with a merchant who could afford St. Gregory’s - pine green satin trimmed with dark grey velvet, lush embroidery along the collar and cuffs of the doublet, polished black leather boots where dark green trousers were tucked in. Next to his all black ensemble, bought from a secondhand store near Triss’s home, Geralt knew he looked less than dapper.

He also had two massive swords strapped to his back. Geralt looked for a place to set them down, choosing a corner close to the table.

Jaskier gestured for him to sit and once they were settled, he said, “You’re not my first Witcher, you know.” The statement rattled around in Geralt’s brain, and Jaskier’s clarification didn’t help. “A few years ago, I met a Witcher in a little inn near Redania. I still had dreams of being a traveling bard then.” He sighed lustily. “Ah the follies of youth. But this man - this Witcher - you two could pass for brothers. It’s uncanny.”

Realization washed over Geralt. “You met Eskel.”

Jaskier brightened. “Yes! That was his name. Completely charming man, my goodness. We spent all night talking over bottles of wine.” Jaskier cocked his head. “So you know him?”

Geralt swiftly redid his assessment of this man. Jaskier was far more cunning than he’d ever figured the shopkeeper for. “I do. But you already knew that.”

A smile spread over Jaskier’s face and Geralt felt its warmth settle in his stomach. Or it was the wine. It was probably the wine. “I admit, it didn’t dawn on me at first. Triss talks about you, of course, but I didn’t connect that her Witcher and Eskel’s brother were the same man.” Jaskier sat back in his chair, crossed his legs. “And then you walked into my shop yesterday and the dots became a straight line. The Geralt of Rivia.”

Jaskier pushed the package on the table forward. _No time like the present_. “I make good on my bargains, and my promises,” he said. 

Geralt gave the package the hairy eyeball. “I haven’t given you the stories you wanted.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Honestly, I’ve never been good at waiting and I want to make sure it’s up to muster now, instead of later tonight.” He gestured to the package. “Please.”

Geralt undid the twine and folded back the thick paper to see a beautifully bound book, the darkest blue leather expertly stamped with _D’Angelo’s Bitterest Root_ in silver ink. It was a mastercraft of skill and artistry. Vesemir would love it.

“Why?” Geralt said that one word in a suspicious tone, now realizing that he’d probably been duped by this charming, too slick man. Sucked in by a set of pretty blue eyes and a silky tenor voice.

And yet Jaskier looked disappointed. “I….it’s a gift, Geralt. That book is long out of print and yet you recognized it instantly. And I get the feeling it’s not for you, but for someone special. I wanted to make the prize worth your time tonight.”

The acid scent of doubt rose in Geralt’s nose and he twitched it away. His suspicion was bleeding out, being replaced by confusion. “It’s a kingly gift, Jaskier. You didn’t have to do this.”

Jaskier gave a one-shouldered shrug, now looking away. “Triss has been a good friend, and a good customer. She talks about you so fondly that I knew getting to meet you would be a treat.” He bit his lip, worried it with his teeth. “Eskel talked about you the same way, Geralt. With fondness and love. The mark of a person’s soul can be told in how others speak of them.” Jaskier put a hand to his chest, turning his gaze back to Geralt. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

 _Shit._ Geralt shifted in his seat, feeling the hard wood cut into his thighs. “No it’s….fuck.” He put a hand over the book, admiring the fine grain of the leather cover under his fingertips. “It’s kind, more so than what I’m used to.” He gave a disgruntled sigh. “Triss and Eskel are always giving me grief about being more personable. I’m sorry.”

A blanket of silence settled over them, weighty and stifling. Finally, Jaskier broke it with a soft,” Dinner’s about done, if you’ve a mind to stay.”

Geralt wanted to groan, but not at Jaskier. At himself and his ridiculous inability to be hospitable and grateful. “I’d like to. Stay, that is.”

The smile was back, and Jaskier bustled over to the stove, leaving Geralt to pour more wine. “Excellent!”

* * *

“Why is Lambert always naked in these stories?” Jaskier chuckled as he drained his glass. “I swear I already know the man rather well and I’ve never met him.”

“He’s an idiot,” Geralt said affably, accepting the last of the bottle in his glass. The autumn breeze ruffled the ends of his hair and cooled his face, which he could tell was flushed from drink. Night had fallen and hours had passed, yet Geralt didn’t feel compelled to leave. “I love the man, but he’s an idiot.”

Jaskier sputtered a laugh, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. “So I’m assuming the book isn’t for him?”

Geralt shook his head. “It’s for my...for Vesemir. He trained us, taught us everything we know about being Witchers.”

“Tell him to take good care of it. I doubt I could find another copy.” Jaskier gave a contented sigh. “Oh, it’s getting late. But I’ve enjoyed this. Thank you, Geralt.”

Geralt ducked his head to hide the heat he could feel settling in his cheeks. “Thank you for everything. The book, dinner -“

“My illustrious company?” Jaskier teased. He’d matched the Witcher drink for drink and seemed only a little hazy, which was impressive. 

Geralt stood, tucked the book safely inside his doublet, and strapped on his swords. “That too,” he admitted, voice gone soft. “Hard to be in a bad mood when a good looking man invites you to dinner.” He took great pride in watching Jaskier blush furiously and turn away. “Tell Gabriella the Witcher left this for her,” and he set an object on the table.

Curious, Jaskier peered down at the roughly finger-length object. “Melitele’s _arse_ , is that a _dragon’s tooth_?”

“Basilisk. But a basilisk is really just a smaller, more annoying dragon.”

Jaskier huffed an incredulous laugh. “She’ll be over the moon, sir Witcher.” He started to walk Geralt to the door. “So, where are you off to now?”

“Preparing to head up the trail to Kaer Morhen.” Geralt shifted the weight of his swords on his back. “Haven’t been back up there in a while, so I’m meeting Eskel at the bottom of the trail in two weeks.” He glanced out at the dark sky. “It’ll be an early winter, don’t want to get caught in the snow trying to ascend.”

“Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier breathed. “Eskel told me a little but everyone’s heard a tale or two.

Geralt nodded in acknowledgment. “Remember, what I’ve told you -“

“Stays with me. I’m well aware.” They stood in front of the door and as Jaskier put his hand on the knob, he grinned at Geralt. “It was truly a pleasure, Geralt. The next time you’re in Novigrad, don’t be a stranger.”

Geralt stared down at the shopkeep, taking in the way the moonlight hit his face and backlit those fiery blue eyes. He might regret this later, but right now, he’d regret _not_ doing it. It was appreciation and thanks and a silent gesture of gratitude for kindness shown to him by someone who had every right to think him a monster - like everyone else did. 

And kissing a handsome man was never a chore.

The Witcher leaned down and brushed his lips over Jaskier’s. It was gentle, almost chaste, but Jaskier gasped against Geralt’s lips and Geralt felt a surge of pride. “I should be back through in the spring,” he said, voice low and gravelly. 

Jaskier nodded, swallowed hard. “I’ll be here.” 

With a final glance, Geralt opened the door and was soon disappearing silently down the stairs, leaving Jaskier to touch his lips with a trembling hand.

* * *

_Beginning of Winter_

“Hey fuckers!”

Eskel rolled his eyes. “Do you want to, or shall I?”

Geralt gestured in front of him. “Please.”

Eskel grinned. “You said please, now I have to.” With a swift, athletic move, Eskel scooped up a ball of snow and hurled it at the figure sitting on the scaffolding. It rocketed through the air, tufts of downy white flying back at them, and smashed into the man’s face.

“Ah gods, _fuck you_!” he yelled through his laughter.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t a crossbow bolt,” Geralt said, voice echoing up and through the courtyard. 

Lambert wiped the snow off his face with a gloved hand. “I hate you both.”

“Yeah yeah.” Geralt grinned at Eskel, then raced forward, into the heart of Kaer Morhen. This place always turned the three of them into brothers, wolves snapping and nipping at each other, their laughter filling empty halls. 

Geralt was home.

A few hours later, after he’d unpacked and checked on Roach, Geralt met Vesemir in the grand hall. The old Witcher was puttering about with a basket of roots and leaves, adding pinches of this or that to various bubbling flasks. “What’d you hit Lambert with earlier?” he asked, not looking back at his oldest. 

“Eskel and a snowball.”

“Bah,” Vesemir said. “Kid needs to toughen up.”

Geralt slid in next to Vesemir, hands out in offering. “Need help?”

“No, not yet. Stay close, though.”

Silence settled around them, comfortable and warm. When Vesemir finally set down his tools and plants, Geralt handed him the book. It was carefully wrapped in a bit of spare clean cloth, kept snuggled in Geralt’s coat for the trip up. Vesemir blinked, confused, then took the little package.

“I’ll be damned,” he said softly, handling the book with care. “Where the hell did you find this?”

“Know a bookseller in Novigrad. He’s a friend of Triss’s.”

“Geralt.” Vesemir’s tone was gently admonishing. “You shouldn’t have gone to the expense.”

Geralt shrugged. “No expense.”

A finger was wagged in his face. “I raised you better than to be a liar.”

“It’s the truth. When I saw it, the book was in tatters. He rebound and gave it to me for you.”

Vesemir’s whistle was low and soft. “A kingly gift.” He raised an eyebrow. “What’d you have to do?”

Geralt had been hoping Vesemir wouldn’t ask him that. But he also couldn’t lie to the old man. “I had dinner with him.”

Vesemir snorted in disbelief. “And yet I can tell you’re not lying. Not even fibbing.” He eyed Geralt carefully. “So, what, he wanted to be able to brag he’d had dinner with a Witcher?”

Geralt knew that tone - the one that had told them over and over again to not trust humans, to know they would be feared and hated but also needed. He couldn’t blame Vesemir for the bitter note in his tone. “No. He used to be a bard and he sells books now. I think he was just looking for some company and a good story.” Geralt smirked. “So I told him stuff about Lambert.”

Now Vesemir laughed, throwing back his grey head in delight. “Oh yeah, that’ll do it. Did you scandalize the poor boy?”

“Don’t think so. He even shared a couple of stories from when he was on the road.” Geralt paused, brow furrowing. “It was….nice. Different.”

“Must have been. You’re not usually this chatty about any human you meet.”

“Who’s Geralt being chatty about?”

Geralt wanted to groan as Lambert sidled up to them. “None of your fucking business, pup.”

Lambert curled close to Geralt, sniffing at his neck. Geralt’s grip on the other man’s arm turned to iron. “Uh huh. I think the Wolf protests too much.” He looked to Vesemir, who was sorting out berries and roots. “You need this one, Papa Vesemir?”

“Nope.” Vesemir gave them both the side eye. “Don’t wreck that room or I’ll take it out of both your hides.” He gave them another look, then said, “All three of your hides.”

“Promises, promises,” Lambert shot back as he steered Geralt out of the hall and up the stairs. 

Once out of sight, Lambert shoved Geralt against the first door, writhing against him. “Missed you, Wolf,” he said softly, nosing at Geralt’s jaw and getting a growl for his troubles. “Eskel did, too.”

Geralt palmed the back of Lambert’s head and pulled him up for a kiss. They tumbled into the room, tearing at each other’s clothes, only to run into the hard, hot wall of Eskel’s bare chest. “Been a while,” Eskel said, bright eyes looking over them both. “And I’m in no rush.”


	2. Spring, Then to Winter Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super fluffy and tender smut ahead!

Geralt arrived in Novigrad late at night, exhausted from too little sleep between tiny villages that wouldn’t rent him a room due to superstition and hatred. 

And because his purse was full, he was even more wary than normal as he walked through the north section of town. One would have to be a fool or an idiot to attack a Witcher no matter the time of day, but Geralt was never one to take anything for granted. Too easy to point the finger at the Witcher and shriek “Abomination”, knowing the Witch Hunters would love to cut off his head.

The clopping of horse hooves moving past him made him miss Roach, who was back at the stables outside the city. And the sounds of quiet chatter from late drinkers and thrill seekers swarmed around him, as did the smell of the city. None of it was pleasant.

A soft note hit his ears. If a single note could be sad, he’d just heard it weep gently in the night. Geralt stopped and looked around. And then he saw it - the shadowed figure in the window above, frame backlit by wavering candlelight. The sound rang out again, and it hit something rather close to Geralt’s heart.

And then the figure in the window began to sing.

He was transfixed, rooted to the spot. Though he stood in shadow and just around the corner, Geralt felt seen. As though the person - the man, from the lilting tenor voice - was singing only to him. The song was full of heartbreak and loss, but the end rounded out to tentative joy at seeing a lover again. Geralt didn’t know the words or the tune, and didn’t care. He stood there and watched and listened. And fell a little bit in love.

When the man finished singing, he sighed and said to no one in particular, “Well, that was beautiful and fucking depressing, Jaskier. Well done.”

Geralt ripped his gaze from the window and then over to where the sign outside the store read “The Gilded Page”. 

_ Oh for the love of Melitele….. _

He’d fallen in love, just a little bit, with the bookseller. Who really should have stuck to his calling as a bard because that was easily the most beautiful song Geralt had ever heard. During the long, brutal winter at Kaer Morhen, when Geralt was alone (which wasn’t often), his mind would sometimes drift back to the bookseller. Jaskier. Of the night they shared talking over dinner and wine, trading stories of their travels. It had been a rare night where Geralt had almost felt  _ normal _ . 

Could you think so much on someone you had met once? Geralt had grumbled about Fate mucking about in his life, but now it seemed likely her hand was involved. It made him wary and curious.

Even when he was curled in bed with Eskel and Lambert, he would occasionally imagine Jaskier with them; his lithe, human body snuggled between the heat of the Witchers. His fellow wolves wouldn’t object, though they might be mystified by such a choice. At least at first.

Geralt would close his eyes, sling an arm over Eskel and a leg over Lambert, and picture Jaskier in the middle of them all. Would imagine the taste of his skin and his sweat, the sounds of his pleasure when they ran their hands over him.

One night he’d dared to ask them. “What if I brought someone up here for a winter?” To which Lambert had replied with a laugh and Eskel only a confused expression. “Not a sorceress,” Geralt had continued, trying not to flush. “A human.”

“For you, or for us?” Lambert asked, eyes now shining. “Cause I could see the latter working out real well, especially if they’re pretty.”

“Calm your tits, Lambert,” Eskel had admonished, cuffing Lambert playfully with an elbow. Which of course had started a naked wrestling match which quickly turned into sex and then the thread of conversation had been lost.

But Geralt still thought about it. And was definitely thinking about it now.

“Jaskier,” he said, his voice loud to his own ears. 

The figure froze, leaned forward. “Bloody hell, Geralt? Hold on, I’ll be right down!”

Geralt had to smirk at how similar this was to their first meeting, but waited until Jaskier flung open the shop door with a huge grin before stepping forward.

* * *

When Geralt left his apartment that autumn night, Jaskier felt flushed with pride. It had been a truly lovely evening. Stupendous, even. The wall around Geralt was still there, but Jaskier had been able to create small cracks, see the man underneath. Triss had always told him the Witcher was stubborn and a bit...clumsy with people, but Jaskier also knew they’d once been involved. So Triss had her reasons to see Geralt a certain way.

And she wasn’t wrong. Geralt was a tad socially awkward, but he was a bloody  _ Witcher _ . The man killed monsters for a living. All that travel and blood and pain would make anyone cranky. Jaskier couldn’t fault him for that. It was not a path meant for most, and if that meant the Witcher took some time to thaw, so be it. Jaskier prided himself on being a good host. A good, home cooked meal, generous pourings of wine, and the chance to simply enjoy another’s company was pivotal to success. 

And Jaskier definitely concluded it had been a successful night.

He didn’t let himself think about the kiss until deep into the early morning hours, when he’d been tossing and turning. He tried to blame the mattress for his inability to sleep. Then poked at the pillow. Discarded the blankets and opened the window. Pulled the blankets back on. But nothing worked.

He was still thinking about the way Geralt’s lips had felt against his. 

Jaskier closed his eyes with a sigh and let his hand wander. He was a grown man who had no shame for his own body and its needs. And he’d resisted throwing himself at the Witcher and climbing him like a tree. He’d resisted begging the man to toss him to the ground and ravish him. He’d resisted the urge to invite him to stay the night.

He deserved a release.

Jaskier reached inside his trousers, letting his fingertips skate oh so gently over his abdomen, then scratched at the hair that led lower. When he finally circled the head of his cock and began to stroke, Jaskier sighed and sank into his bed. He allowed his eyes to flutter closed; all the better to remember the strong jaw and bright gold eyes of the Witcher. The feel of the man’s lips on his. The smell of him - leather and wine and the pomade some barber had slicked through that gorgeous white hair.

He came shamefully quickly and barely had the frame of mind to pull his shirt out of the way. His release rocketed through him, heat and flame suffusing his limbs. And when it faded and his body cooled, he swiped at the mess on his chest with a rag and fell asleep.

* * *

“Geralt!” Jaskier couldn’t - and didn’t want to - stop the smile spreading over his face. By all the gods above, Geralt looked good. Rested, fed, with new armor but still that sheet of white hair and steely jaw.

“Not too hard of a winter in the mountains, I hope,” Jaskier said casually, leaning against the door as Geralt approached with steady, sure steps. “You look well.”

He stepped back as Geralt neared so the Witcher could walk inside. Jaskier’s heart was in his throat but he kept smiling, unable to stop the joy palpating in his veins. He was fit to bursting with it.

Jaskier was not ready for Geralt to step into his space, lean down, and kiss him. “Ger-“ But his cry of surprise was lost as Geralt nudged him inside and kicked the door shut, Geralt’s hand curled into his collar as a guide.

Jaskier melted into him. Months of imagining what this would feel like, what Geralt would taste like, and now….now he had it. Alive and warm and real in his hands.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Geralt whispered against his lips. “Wanted you with me this winter.”

Jaskier groaned and broke away just enough to see Geralt properly. “I...I would have gone. Closed the store for the season and gone.”

Geralt’s eyes were wild upon hearing Jaskier’s confession, but his voice was quiet as he said, “Is this mad?”

Jaskier shrugged and laughed. “Does it matter? Clearly we’re both a tad….” He let a smirk crawl over his face as he looked down at the line of Geralt’s hard cock pressing against his pants. “Infatuated.”

Geralt dove for him, pressing the heat and weight of his body against Jaskier’s. The need to touch him was a breathing, pulsing thing deep in his bones. “Need you,” Geralt growled, snaking a hand between them to palm Jaskier’s cock. 

An image of Geralt taking him on the store counter flashed through Jaskier’s mind, burned like the flare of a corona. He groaned and arched up against Geralt, clawing at his armor. “Something I can definitely help with but you’ve got on far too much armor.”

The Witcher chuckled against his lips, dark and velvet and Jaskier went weak at the sound of it. “What’s upstairs?” he asked, steering Jaskier toward the stairs. 

“Sitting room - ah, Geralt!” Jaskier cried as Geralt nipped at the spot just below his jaw.

“Fireplace, rug?”

Jaskier nodded swiftly. Now he understood and the unspoken implication made blood rush to his cock almost painfully fast. And in one move, Geralt scooped him up, cradling Jaskier in his arms, and carried him upstairs.

“Come here,” Jaskier growled, yanking Geralt’s head down for a kiss as they ascended. The wet heat of the Witcher’s mouth was driving him crazy, so much that he almost missed the sound of a fire sparking. He pulled away, eyes wide. “How did you…”

With great care, Geralt laid him down on the thick fur rug in front of the now alive fire. “Witcher stuff,” Geralt rumbled with a smile. 

“Why is that sexy?” Jaskier’s voice was an exasperated, fascinated moan, which made Geralt chuckle. “You’re terrible.”

Geralt traced the line of Jaskier’s cock with a finger. “This says otherwise,” and Jaskier started to pull at his clothing, feeling suffocated.

He watched, fascinated, as Geralt began to undo his armor and set the pieces aside. It was a complicated process but Jaskier was fixated. The tease of the reveal, inch by inch, made him pant with want. And once Geralt was gloriously shirtless, Jaskier was near drooling. So much that he had to check his chin; he swore he felt a trickle of liquid run down it. And of course Geralt saw that and smirked.

Bastard.

He’d never seen anyone like Geralt. All hard muscle and scarred skin and downy trail of hair across that barrel chest and leading south. Jaskier’s hands itched to touch, but he dug his fingers into the rug below him and waited. Something about the look on Geralt’s face told him this was just the start.

Now the Witcher crawled over him, hips brushing his thighs. And then those fire-warmed lips on his stomach, strong fingers skimming his ribs. Jaskier sucked in a breath, let out a moan, and let his head fall back, focusing on the feel of Geralt’s mouth on his chest.

“Good?”

Jaskier’s head shot back up, eyes hooded and dark. “Geralt,” he breathed. “I’m….speechless. I’m  _ never _ speechless.” He put his palms under Geralt’s jaw and gently drew him up. “I thought about you so much.”

Jaskier’s confession rattled around in Geralt’s mind and when his brow furrowed, Jaskier soothed it with his thumbs. “So did I. Thought about you curled up in bed with me, staying warm in the middle of a blizzard.” Geralt ducked his head, nipped at Jaskier’s chest. “Thought about you curled up with all of us.”

Something shorted out in Jaskier’s brain at that. “How many is ‘all of us’?” he asked, voice thick with want.

“Me, Eskel, Lambert.”

Jaskier groaned. “Oh my  _ gods _ .” He thrust up against Geralt’s hips. 

“Would you like that?” The answer Jaskier gave was a full-body shiver and Geralt leaned down, caged Jaskier between his body and hands. “Good.”

This kiss burned and bit and drove Jaskier to distraction. The sheer  _ passion _ of it was like something out of a romance novel and he  _ wanted _ . Ached and keened with it, begged and pleaded because of it. And still Geralt remained steady, taking his time, exploring Jaskier’s body and finding every divot, every bump, every scar.

When they were both naked and panting, the velvet weight of Geralt’s erection slipping along Jaskier’s thigh, Jaskier couldn’t take any more. “Please,” he said softly, eyes tracing that face hovering over his. With no small amount of effort, he flipped over, sighing as his cock slid against the thick fur rug.

“You’re sure?” Geralt’s voice sounded very far away, and yet somehow Jaskier felt those words in his ear at the same time.

Jaskier bucked up against him, savoring the feel of that hard, hot length slipping against his cheeks. “Yes. More than anything, yes.” The look he shot Geralt over his shoulder was beyond desirous. The need etched on his pretty face made Geralt’s heart flip in his chest. “Please.”

“Oil?”

Jaskier pointed to where his lute case was propped against the wall. “Lucky for us both I was polishing her before you arrived.”

Geralt retrieved the oil and gave it a cursory sniff. It was bland enough to work and he didn’t smell any chemicals that would burn or sting. “Don’t trust me to know what won’t hurt my ass?” Jaskier teased.

The Witcher snorted as he came back to him, then tapped him on the hip. Jaskier lifted and Geralt pushed the pillow he’d snagged from the armchair under his abdomen. He wanted to take extra care with Jaskier, to take it slow and steady and make him writhe and keen. With Eskel and Lambert it was rough but practiced; everyone knew each other’s limits, their ability to take and give, how hard they liked to be thrust into.

Jaskier was new. And human. And he drove Geralt mad with need and that last thing he wanted was to hurt him.

Geralt palmed the globes of Jaskier’s ass, kneading gently. Jaskier whimpered and thrust back against him. “Geralt….”

“I know.” And he did know - his cock was aching with it, the utter, clawing need to rut and fuck subsiding into something warmer. Gentler. He slipped his thumb into Jaskier’s crack, reveling in the man’s gasp. Geralt hummed in appreciation, then did it again, letting that gasp of pleasure fill his ears.

He touched Jaskier with gentle hands, running palms down the back of his thighs, tangling his fingers in the coarse hair on his legs. Jaskier buried his face in his arms, muffling his curses and cries. And when Geralt figured he’d had enough, he oiled his fingers and pulled Jaskier’s cheeks apart. Jaskier  _ sobbed _ with relief and began to beg.

“Geralt, Geralt, please. I need you. I need you so much.”

Geralt swallowed hard - the feel of Jaskier beneath him, the way his skin felt too tight, the heady rush of lust buzzing in his brain, it was all too much and not enough. And when he pressed one oiled fingertip against Jaskier’s hole, waiting for the muscle to give in to him, they both fell silent.

The air left Jaskier’s lungs as his body accepted Geralt’s finger and then he slumped with relief. “You okay?” Geralt asked, concern flaring to life in his chest. 

“Yes,” Jaskier hissed, craning his head to look at him. “Keep going.”

Geralt was careful. Attentive. Aware of every little sigh and moan, of how Jaskier clenched around him, silken heat he wanted to thrust into so badly he had to bite his lip to help maintain control. He checked with Jaskier every step of the way - from one finger to two, to ask if he could kiss a line down his back, to make sure Jaskier told him if it hurt.

“I’m ready,” Jaskier gasped out, writhing and fucking himself on Geralt’s fingers after several long, teasing minutes. The slick sound of it, the way his body welcomed Geralt’s touch….it was all perfect. “Geralt.”

“All right.” Geralt scooped his hands under Jaskier’s hips until he was at just the right angle, then slid his hands back so he could better grip Jaskier’s ass. The slow pace of it was driving them both to the edge already, but Geralt was determined to make this last. 

With painstaking care, Geralt’s cock slipped between Jaskier’s cheeks and just barely pushed against his hole. Jaskier stuttered out a gasp and then went boneless, putty in Geralt’s hands. He stayed that way while Geralt pushed in, watching his cock disappear inside Jaskier’s body.

“Gods above,” Jaskier whispered, fingers dug into the rug. “If you don’t fucking move -“

Geralt huffed out a laugh and for once, listened to Jaskier’s rambling pleas. He rolled his hips forward, pulled Jaskier back onto his cock, and set a rhythm that edged past teasing. Jaskier made these sweet little sounds with every thrust, and then he began  _ talking _ . “Gods, Geralt, please. Oh fuck, please. Yes, fuck me, need it. Need you.”

Over and over again, Geralt slid into that molten heat, thrusting into the core of Jaskier’s body, and the room filled with obscene sounds of skin on skin, well-oiled and cared for. Geralt pushed his thumbs into the muscle along Jaskier’s spine, earning a groan, and then bent down to whisper, “More?”

“Please.”

Geralt took that permission, held it close, and laid down on top of Jaskier until he was propped up on his elbows and Jaskier had wantonly opened his legs wider. The angle shifted, changed, and Jaskier was taking him deeper. Geralt thrust against him, hips smacking into Jaskier’s ass as he chased a rhythm that made them both gasp and shiver. 

Jaskier was face down on the rug and Geralt could still hear him groaning. “Geralt- ah! Fucking fuck…”

With what little concentration he had, Geralt put his lips to Jaskier’s ear. “Come.”

Jaskier inhaled sharply, threw his head back, and came with a sob. He thrust his hips into the rug, bouncing back against Geralt. That slight change in how his body took Geralt’s cock had Geralt seeing white. He growled against the sensation, thrust one more time, and pulled out to spill over Jaskier’s back, earning a hiss from Jaskier.

Silence backdropped by the fire filled the room once more as they panted together. Jaskier wanted to roll over and look at Geralt, but the Witcher stilled him with a hand. “Hold on.”

Jaskier let Geralt clean them up and when he finally flipped over, he immediately tugged Geralt down into a searing kiss, tasting him, diving into him. Jaskier’s cock stirred with interest against Geralt’s stomach. “I might need a minute but we are doing that again,” Jaskier said breathlessly, pulling back to look into Geralt’s eyes with a grin. “My gods, you are incredible.”

Pride flushed through Geralt as he saw the satisfaction on Jaskier’s face, felt it in the way the man’s body molded against his own. He stretched over Jaskier, snagging the blanket on the nearby chair with two fingers, and pulled it down on them. “Is this all right?” he asked into Jaskier’s nape, curling his lover close.

“Yes. Better than all right.” Jaskier reached back to grasp Geralt’s hand, pull it over his chest. “Perfect.”

* * *

_ That winter _

“Don’t be nervous.”

Jaskier scoffed but his face contorted with worry. “Nervous? Why would I be...fuck, I am so nervous.”

Geralt drew him close, kissed his temple. “I understand.” He pulled back, eyes glinting with mischief. “Just be ready to duck. Lambert’s got mean aim with a snowball.”

By the time they reached the main courtyard of Kaer Morhen, Geralt could smell his brothers before he saw them. They burst through the door of the grand hall and out into the bright mid-afternoon sun, and Jaskier stopped dead in his tracks. He saw Eskel’s face light up with recognition as the big man rushed forward. “Jaskier, I’ll be damned. Geralt said you were coming up but….” He came to a halt in front of Jaskier, gold eyes sparkling. “Gods it’s been what, five years?”

Jaskier pushed a hand through his hair self-consciously. “Something like that.” But he was smiling, too.

Lambert circled around them and came to stand by Geralt’s side, one arm wrapped around his waist. He nosed at Geralt’s neck, taking in the familiar scents of leather and wine and the note that was distinctly  _ Geralt _ . “He’s pretty,” Lambert purred into Geralt’s ear, low enough for only his fellow wolves to hear. Or so he thought.

“It turns out musicians have spectacular hearing,” Jaskier shot back over his shoulder, grin wide and toothy. “And yes,  _ he _ is quite pretty.”

Lambert slunk forward, keeping his hands to himself as he stood behind Jaskier. “And is  _ he _ here for Geralt, or for us?”

Feeling bold, Jaskier pushed back against the Witcher, his ass flush against Lambert’s hips. He tugged on Eskel’s collar until he could press his temple against the other man’s jaw.

“I taught him well,” Geralt said softly, pressing a kiss to Lambert’s neck.


	3. Interlude: First day at Kaer Morhen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little tease of what’s to come! Several of you inquired about a few more chapters/a continuation so here we go!

Jaskier expected to be nervous. He expected to need to keep his mind busy and hands preoccupied in the first few days while getting settled after the arduous hike up The Killer. He expected to spend a few days with a thrum of energy under his skin, thanks to the proximity of three strapping Witchers, one of which he’d been sleeping with since the spring.

Instead, here he was on the first night, sitting in a cozy bedroom - alone. Alone while the others finished work into the evening hours. He ate the stew Vesemir had prepared, but he sat in the great hall with nothing but the echoes to keep him company. 

Before Geralt had gone outside to work with the others, he kissed Jaskier slowly, deeply, his hands wandering up and down the bookseller’s back. “We’ll be back in later. Probably well past sunset. Get settled, unpack. Make sure you decide on what we talked about.” And Jaskier had nodded and kissed him back, body pulsing with the heady promise of _later_.

But here he was with a book propped in his lap and feeling the urge to do _something_. He could explore, but he liked his bones the way they were - unbroken and working. The fortress was old and full of warped floors and cracked stone; plus Geralt would be fit to be tied if Jaskier wound up hurt. 

Maybe he could put his head out the main door and try to spot them? 

No, that wouldn’t work. It was pitch black outside save a few torches sputtering in the cold breeze. 

Jaskier was not someone who did well with boredom. It was made substantially worse by the fact that he had been expecting more than a few lingering touches from the others.

With a sigh, Jaskier swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked around the room. Hells, he didn’t know where everyone else _slept_. Surely a little walk down the hallway wouldn’t go amiss.

* * *

“You gonna keep that man waiting all night, Geralt?”

Geralt reached for the last piece of timber and hammered it in place. Roach, who was standing a few feet inside the stall, snorted at him. “No,” he replied to Eskel. “I am trying to finish this and then we’ll go in.” 

‘I’d have said fuck it to this tonight, if he were mine,” Lambert said as he dumped one final bucket of water in his horse’s trough. 

“Then why aren’t you up there now?” Geralt shot back, eyes flashing.

“Yeah well I….he’s not mine, Geralt.”

“No, he’s ours.”

Lambert sputtered. “You keep saying that, but we haven’t even been properly introduced to him.”

A hand clapped down on Lambert’s shoulder. “Hush, brother. Trust Geralt knows what he’s doing.”

Lambert grumbled something unintelligible but turned into Eskel’s offered embrace. “Are we going?”

 _For fuck’s sake. I want him, too, you clod_. But Geralt didn’t say that. He gave the nails one more hit each, checked the board for give, and turned away, satisfied. “Night, Roach,” he said softly, giving the mare a pat on the nose. She wickered at him and then turned away, content enough with the fare in her trough to now ignore him. “Let’s go.”

“Fucking finally!” Lambert slipped out of Eskel’s grip and ran toward the fortress. “I’m going right down. Someone go get that bookseller.” He winked at Eskel. “You could make your introduction.”

Eskel gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “Then why don’t you go? You’re so eager to make friends with the new cock in the house.”

Lambert grinned toothily. “I want the next time Jaskier sees me to involve nudity. Mine and his.

Geralt made an aggrieved noise deep in his throat, drawing another laugh from Lambert. “Fine, go. We’ll be the mature ones. Like always.”

Lambert bolted off, leaving Eskel and Geralt to stand outside the main doors. “Should I go up alone?”

“I’ll go with, even if it’s just to stand outside.”

Eskel came to him then, putting a gloved hand on Geralt’s cheek. “Yeah? You sure?”

Geralt drew him close and breathed in, letting his eyes shut. “Yeah. Just let him make the first move. Jaskier’s….not like anyone else.”

That made Eskel smile. “I’ll say. Never known you to be so besotted with anyone.”

“He makes me crazy,” Geralt grumbled. “Every time I’d come back to Novigrad, I’d head right for his place. He eventually learned to close the shop, instead of trying to do business while I sat around waiting for him.”

“Pfffftt. Couldn’t keep your hands off of each other, huh?”

Geralt flushed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “We might have scandalized a few people.”

“Aw, did you get caught taking it up the ass, Geralt? Where at, the shop counter?”

The scarlet on his cheeks crept higher. “They saw my boots under his desk.”

Eskel froze, then threw his head back and laughed. “So much better than fucking on the counter. Oh my _gods_ , Geralt, you cock-hungry whoreson.”

Geralt shoved him inside as Eskel’s laughter echoed up through the halls.


	4. Of Hot Springs and First Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame you all for this existing.

Jaskier heard the laughter - loud and deep and manly - as he walked the hall around his room. He’d just set out to explore when he heard Geralt and Eskel talking. He peered over the railing and watched them brush snow out of their hair and off their shoulders.

“You ready?” Geralt asked Eskel as they took off their winter layers, hanging up coats and gloves on pegs near the fire.

Eskel gave his hair one more shake before answering. “Yeah. I don’t want to scare him off, though, Geralt.” His gaze flicked away, toward something Jaskier couldn’t see from his angle. “I don’t want to fuck up what you have.”

“Come here.” Geralt wrapped the bigger man in his arms, pulling him close. Jaskier’s heart clenched at the sight - the affection on Geralt’s face made him swallow hard. He knew that look well, and to see Geralt treat Eskel that way made emotion rise in his chest. Geralt clearly adored Eskel, and he was beyond pleased to find himself in similar company as someone Geralt had known for so long. It was never, ever jealousy. How could he be jealous of affection so freely given and accepted?

“Not gonna fuck it up.” Geralt’s voice was muffled in Eskel’s neck, but Jaskier heard it well enough. A bolt of lust shot through Jaskier as he watched Geralt plant several small kisses on the other man’s neck, making Eskel groan and grip Geralt that much harder. “Jaskier’s a good man. He knows the situation here. Asked to join us this winter.” The last kiss ended with a bite to Eskel’s earlobe and Jaskier saw the Witcher’s knuckles go white where his fingers wrapped around Geralt’s bicep.

“Keep doing that and I’m going to ask you to fuck me on that table.” Eskel’s voice was tight, strained with desire. Jaskier muffled his own moan with a fist. 

“Don’t tempt me.” Geralt pulled back and gave Eskel an assessing look. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

“I remember the last time you said that.”

Geralt snorted and shoved a slightly red-faced Eskel toward the stairs. Realizing he was going to get caught, Jaskier kept low and slunk back to his room, leaving the door cracked so they could see him sitting on his bed reading; or at least attempting to.

Soon enough there were footsteps on the stairs, then coming down the hallway, and Jaskier swiftly undid half the buttons on his shirt, letting it gape to show a spill of dark chest hair. He leaned forward and put his chin in his hand and his eyes on the page of musical theory he’d been trying to study for the last two hours.

“Jaskier? It’s Eskel and Geralt.”

Jaskier looked up and saw shadows shifting outside his room. He smiled, big and genuine, and motioned them in. “Finally! You’d leave your poor guest alone on his first night at your home. The utter gall -“

Eskel stepped in, Geralt right behind him. But as Jaskier started to get up from where he was seated, Eskel motioned to the bed. “May I?”

“Absolutely.” He didn’t _have_ to make room on the preposterously large bed even for someone of Eskel’s size, but it was a natural instinct to create space. And Jaskier was trying to look as normal as possible in the face of his lover and an old acquaintance. 

_An old acquaintance whom I want to be so much more._

“Better watch out, Eskel,” Geralt said softly from his spot in the doorway. “I know that grin. Means he’s thinking.”

Jaskier scoffed and waved a hand at Geralt. “Please. I don’t look any certain way. Just being polite.”

“You look like a nice little snack, Jaskier,” Geralt replied with a growl to his voice, making Jaskier gulp. “Think about that for a moment.”

 _Shit I do! So my plan is working…._ Now Jaskier turned up the dial on his grin to full volume. If he was performing in this moment, he would have chosen right then to let out a full-throated bellow of voice and song, just to watch the crowd sway with him. Instead, he was focused on the man seated on his bed. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, reaching up to run his fingers over the hollow of his throat.

Eskel’s eyes were hot on Jaskier and the movement of his hand. Slowly, he held out his own hand. “May I?” Jaskier put his fingers on Eskel’s and was gently pulled forward until their knees brushed. From the door, Geralt made a noise of approval and Jaskier glanced over, curious.

Geralt was slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt. “Oh gods,” Jaskier moaned, making Eskel shake with laughter.

“You’re all riled up, aren’t you?” The Witcher’s voice was low, husky with desire; a warning shot across Jaskier’s bow. “Just sitting up here all alone, waiting on his Witchers.” Jaskier was desperately trying not to whimper but a few notes eked out. “Did Geralt tell you about the best part of this place?” 

“I’m assuming that’s all of you.”

Eskel snorted. “I’m honored, but nah. So he didn’t tell you about the hot springs?” When Jaskier shook his head, Eskel clucked. “Geralt, you can’t keep something like that a secret from your man. There’s a natural hot springs in the sub-basement. We wanted to take you down there tonight, welcome you to Kaer Morhen properly.”

Jaskier was close to swooning. All of them. Together. Slick from the water and heat and deliciously naked. A vision of him on his knees before three Witcher cocks made his jaw ache and his cock stiffen. “I….that sounds lovely,” he managed to spit out, still grinning like a loon.

“Lovely, he says,” Geralt replied before letting his shirt drop to the floor. “Your smell says something else, love.”

Now Jaskier whimpered softly, making Eskel tug him closer in response. “This okay?” he asked, sliding his hand up Jaskier’s arm.

“Yes.” In one fluid sweep of his leg, Jaskier straddled Eskel, knees on the outside of the Witcher’s hips. Eskel grunted in surprise, hands snapping out to steady Jaskier at the waist while Geralt stifled a laugh in his fist. “Gods you are so strong. It’s a stretch to even get my knees like this.”

“If only Lambert could hear that.” Eskel smiled up at Jaskier, taking in those blue eyes and soft lips. “Don’t give him too much ammo, Jaskier. He’ll make you eat every bit of it.”

_Don’t say it. Don’t say it._

Jaskier’s eyes widened but he said, “Understood.” He could hear Geralt still trying to smother his laughter, which ended in him coughing and waving them on. Jaskier rolled his eyes and then refocused on Eskel. He was _so warm_ under his hands and even from the small space between their bodies, Jaskier could feel the steady thump of Eskel’s heartbeat. “Kiss me.”

“I...uh, you sure?”

“Yes.”

Eskel blinked like he couldn’t believe it, but said, “Okay,” and pressed a palm to the back of Jaskier’s neck to pull him down until their mouths met. It was a brush of lips, steady and soft. A way to learn the outline of each other’s mouths, with no push or pull for more. No demands, no pressure. 

Jaskier made a small noise of encouragement in the back of his throat as he dug his fingers into Eskel’s hair, guiding him where he wanted the Witcher’s head to go. The hand on Jaskier’s waist clenched but didn’t tug or tighten. 

Jaskier _ached_ with how gentle Eskel was being, how aware of how easily he could overwhelm a human with his size and strength. He let Jaskier guide and steer them. Jaskier couldn’t hardly stand it. He pulled back with a gasp. “Eskel, please. I won’t break.”

“Trust him,” Geralt said, walking into the room. Without ceremony, he sat down on the bed, near enough so Jaskier could feel the heat of him on his left side. “He’ll tell you.” Geralt brushed his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and Jaskier canted to the side, chasing that touch. “He did for me, he would for you.”

Eskel gently steered Jaskier back to him and he took the opening, diving for Eskel’s mouth. Jaskier’s momentum took them both down to the mattress and suddenly Jaskier’s hands were everywhere - in Eskel’s hair, on his neck and shoulders, running down his chest. Geralt heard a hiss escape the other Witcher and with a satisfied grin, he leaned back against the headboard to watch.

* * *

Lambert closed his eyes as he sank into the hot water and let out a loud groan. Every year, he waited for this moment. It was though his body built up a retinue of bruises, cramps, scrapes, and aches and the first dip in the hot springs rendered them all gone. 

One year, while very drunk on several bottles of wine, he’d asked Vesemir if the hot springs were enchanted. And when Vesemir said yes, and to not tell the others, Lambert swore he’d carry that secret to his grave.

He lasted two weeks. 

Chuckling, he sunk under the water and let it blast against his head and neck, soaking him thoroughly. When he surfaced, he flung the water from his eyes and peered around for his brothers and the bookseller. No dice.

He leaned back again, intent on enjoying the water in solitude for as long as possible. Eskel would take his sweet time learning the taste of Jaskier’s mouth and Geralt would sit there, silently watching. But he had other plans.

Most of them involved getting on his knees and sucking every single cock that came into the room, starting with the one attached to the owner of that fine arse that had come to stay with them for the winter. 

Leaning back further, he rested his head on the side of the pool and let his hands wander. He was already hard and aching and no amount of boiling hot water would stop the bolt-shot of lust that had been curling in his gut for hours. But it was more enjoyable to stoke the fire, so to speak, then to waste that glorious heat and ache on a quick release that would leave him unsatisfied. So he would wait.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t touch and fondle and stretch himself. And if he was lucky, they’d catch him doing it.


	5. One Witcher Isn't Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little suggestive smut and fluff to round out the story!

Lambert heard footfalls on the stairs leading to the hot springs and grinned. He’d just pulled out of the water to grab more soap and move towels closer to the ledge; perfect timing, and even better that it was on accident. The air was cool on his warm skin and he suppressed a shiver only partially fueled by the temperature.

On silent feet he stalked forward to wait near the rock steps hewn into the wall, hands on hips and half hard. “About goddamn time, you fuckers.”

Eskel, shirtless and flushed, was the first one to descend. When he saw Lambert standing at half mast, he grinned lecherously. “Nice view down here, don’t you think Geralt?”

Geralt gave one of his trademark grunts but his eyes were hot on Lambert. He immediately began peeling out of his clothes, all brusque movements like usual. But Lambert could smell his excitement, the lust coming off his skin like a fine perfume.

Jaskier was neither smooth nor subtle in how he stared at Lambert’s body. “I’m gonna die,” he moaned, swiping a hand down his face. “Death by Witcher cock. What a way to go.” He heard Eskel and Geralt laugh, and then the splash of water as they entered the hot springs. A quick glance revealed the two of them leaning against the ledge, Eskel pressed into Geralt as the White Wolf kissed along his jaw. But their eyes were on Lambert and Jaskier.

Lambert snorted, stepped closer, crowding Jaskier back until he bumped into the wall. The bookseller was red cheeked with swollen lips and blown eyes, looking every bit like he’d already been debauched. Probably had, given it was Eskel’s scent all over him. “You’ve got too many clothes on,” Lambert purred, rubbing up against him, nosing at his ear. “Need help?”

Geralt and Eskel had both told him Lambert would try to press his buttons immediately, so Jaskier wasn’t surprised by the naked Witcher’s outward affection or the erection poking him in the stomach. And after being so keyed up by Eskel’s drugging kisses and Geralt’s roaming hands, Jaskier wasn’t in the mood to keep his hands to himself. He palmed Lambert’s pectorals, his thumbs brushing dusky nipples, and was rewarded with a curse and a bite to his earlobe.

“They tell you to do that?” Lambert growled in his ear.

“I wanted to,” Jaskier retorted, looking down slightly at the shorter man. “I came here of my own volition, Witcher. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Did you now?” Lambert leaned forward more, caging Jaskier between his body and the wall. “You’re the only one with clothes on, human. Get naked.”

Heat flared low in his gut and he wanted to groan and bite his fist, but instead he kept his eyes locked on Lambert. “I seem to be trapped. Care to help?”

There was a gasp behind Lambert and Jaskier peered around to see Geralt mercilessly twisting one of Eskel’s nipples between his fingers. Eskel’s head was thrown back on Geralt’s shoulder, fingers digging into Geralt’s side, jaw slack as he was so sweetly tortured. Jaskier fought back a groan, making Lambert chuckle. “Get your clothes off,” he said, pushing away from the wall. “Or no hot springs full of naked Witchers.”

Jaskier thrust up his chin defiantly.  _ Make him earn it _ , Eskel had told him moments before they left Geralt’s room.  _ He likes being pushed, and likes pushing back.  _ “I highly doubt the most junior Witcher has permission to deny me what I want.” He smoothed a hand over his jacket. “So go fuck yourself, Lambert.”

Twin snorts were quickly smothered by Geralt kissing Eskel hungrily and pushing him up against the rock ledge of the pool. Eskel fisted Geralt’s hair with a moan, other hand flying up to caress his shoulder. 

“Go fuck myself, huh?” Lambert shoved Jaskier back with a rough hand, while the other one snaked behind his head to cradle his skull.  _ He’s playing with me _ , Jaskier thought giddily as he stared down at Lambert’s handsomely rugged face, with its sharp cheekbones and scarred lips. “Seems like a certain human wants to see how far he can push a Witcher he doesn’t know.” 

Lambert reached forward to tug one handed at buttons, sending little discs flying to ping off the rocks. When Jaskier’s shirt was hanging open, Lambert pushed one shoulder of it down. “Hmmm, you’re halfway to looking completely fuckable,” he said quietly, eyes flaring wide at Jaskier’s little gasp. “Like that, huh?” He pushed his thumb against Jaskier’s bottom lip and didn’t hold back a grunt as Jaskier sucked it into his mouth, tongue swirling around the nail. “Geralt had to bring us a pretty thing that likes to play dirty, didn’t he?”

Jaskier dropped Lambert’s thumb from his mouth and pressed his head back into the hand keeping him from cracking it on the wall. The movement bared his throat and all three Witchers groaned as he showed them the pale expanse of skin dotted with already fading love bites. “Come on, then,” he urged, tugging on Lambert’s hips. “I want a matching set.”

“Fuck me,” Eskel muttered into Geralt’s ear as he thrust into the rough fist around his cock. 

“Maybe later if you say please,” Geralt teased. “But also yeah.”

Lambert groaned and ducked his head, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s pulse, just above a red mark Eskel had sucked into his skin. Jaskier clutched at Lambert’s arms and moaned. “I bet Geralt tells you all the time how good you taste, how you smell,” Lambert murmured into his neck. “And pretty soon, you’re going to smell like all of us. Inside and out.”

Jaskier’s fingers on his arm turned vice-like, and if he’d been human Lambert would have bruises. “Promise?” he asked, sounding shattered.

“Yeah. Going to take real good care of you.” While Lambert licked and sucked and bit his neck and collarbone, he started tearing at the laces on Jaskier’s pants. With his help, Jaskier stepped out of those and then his smalls, leaving him flushed and naked and wanting. Without a word, Lambert took Jaskier’s hand and led him over to the stairs into the hot springs.

Jaskier hissed at first contact with the water, pulling his foot back out and giving it a shake. “That is….very hot.”

Geralt pulled his head up and away from Eskel’s kiss-swollen lips, concern marring his features. “If it’s too hot, Jaskier -”

“No, just surprising. It’s like a really hot bath you have to get used to.” At Lambert’s gentle insistence, Jaskier slowly made his way into the pool, stepping gingerly to dance around one of the more intense jets of water. Once he was waist deep, his face went slack. “Oh. That is remarkable.”

Lambert chuckled. “Feels good, right?”

“My gods, yes.” Jaskier whimpered and sank deeper, the water now just below his nipples. “I could die a happy man right here.”

Something dangerous flashed in Lambert’s eyes. “Even before what we’ve got planned?”

Jaskier’s tongue flicked out to lick his bottom lip, the movement drawing the attention of all three men. “Please tell me it involves being in the middle of a Witcher pile.” His voice was strained, higher than normal, hand tightly holding Lambert’s.

“Whatever you want,” Eskel said, holding out a hand to Jaskier, which he took. And once Geralt had put a hand on Jaskier’s hip, he was pulled between Geralt and Eskel, with Lambert at his left side. 

Now crowded between three impossibly beautiful men, Jaskier couldn’t stop his breath from stuttering out of his lungs. The water made his face flush and sweat gather at his temples, but he didn’t care. There were suddenly six hands on him and he was lost to the sensation. Eskel’s arms were around him, Geralt was caressing his face, and Lambert was stroking his side and flank. He shuddered at how they were slowly taking him apart, fingers and hands reverent.

Geralt began kissing him, feverish and wanting. Eskel put his lips on the back of his neck, tongue hot on his skin. And Lambert, bless him, began sucking on Jaskier’s index finger, cheeks hollowing with the effort. 

Jaskier closed his eyes and let his Witchers take care of him.

* * *

Hours later, Jaskier was still in the middle of a Witcher pile. Except now, sated and sleepy, he was squished between the heat of Lambert and Geralt while Eskel fetched them food and wine. Geralt’s arm was thrown over his ribs and Lambert had hitched his knee over Jaskier’s. He was surrounded by Witcher heat and soft fur and skin. And his entire body thrummed pleasantly as he dozed.

The door creaked as Eskel, buck naked and carrying an overloaded tray of food and wine, came back into the room. “This will last us about ten seconds, but it’s a start,” he said with a smile, the scarred side of his face twisting as he did so. 

“Shhh,” Lambert said faux-dramatically. “We wore him out.”

“Only a little,” Jaskier mumbled into Lambert’s chest, drawing a laugh from all three of them. “Don’t wait on my account. I’m just going to….”

Jaskier fell back asleep, safe and warm and content.


End file.
